


A Million Ways To Show You I Love You

by IAmWhelmed



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Son of Batman (2014), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Dream Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Actually Unrequited Love, until it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed
Summary: Series of NSFW one-shot requests I received on my tumblr.Latest Chapter: Damian finds himself dreaming of Jon after a fight at a party where he, perhaps unintentionally, confesses. He assumes this is his mind's way of working through conflict before he can finally let go of his feelings for his best friend... you know what happens when you assume.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	A Million Ways To Show You I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> There's a Codename: Kids Next Door reference in here, if you guys can catch it ;D

He knew it was a dream... had to be.

Because Jon was still at that party, and she was still under his arm, and he knew she was just his friend, because that’s what Jon told him, but she didn’t look at him that way. She looked at him the way everyone should have looked at Jon-- wonder, relief, love...

It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of Jon, He’d dreamed of his best friend a million times, kissing him, sweet, innocent, because he’d loved him since way back when, when they were kids. He’d dreamed of sitting with him side-by-side on the roof of their base with the sunset above, dreamed of Jon’s boyish blushing face and his small smile before he made an excuse to get closer, and closer, until--

...and he savored that memory because he knew, now, that it was all he’d ever get, it was where his fingers graced his lips as he let his broken heart guide him to sleep. In the dark of his room, in the dead of night, early enough he was sure the party was still going strong, late enough he was sure some wallflowers began to filter out, the time he would have left.

And he knew this was a dream because Jon had appeared to him as he drifted off. Jon was standing in his room, looking sad, looking worried. His hair was a mess, windblown, beautiful. Still in his civies, despite the fact that, if this hadn’t been a dream, he’d have been in his pajamas at home in his bed, because even now he had a curfew and a bedtime. Jon was too much of a good boy to ignore his mom like that, to disobey deliberately like he did, and Lois Lane was somehow less understanding than Bruce Wayne.

But Jon was a dream, because he was staring at him from the door of his bedroom, unsure of himself, afraid to come in like he’d done something wrong. He nearly scoffed, nearly screamed,  nearly cried . Jon hadn’t done anything wrong. Jon was a dream and he crossed the room, closed the door behind him, and he was touching him-- his face, tears on his skin, thumb against red cheek, caressing him. He closed his eyes, dug his face into the pillow, but clasped Jon’s hand under his own. “Jon...” It was low, thick with sleep, raw with salt he could still taste in the back of his throat from the tears he hadn’t shed.

“D...”

This was a dream because Jon was kneeling at his bedside, and he was getting closer, and he could feel his hot breath on his lips. He wanted to ask how Jon got in, how he’d gotten to him so fast, why their noses were brushing and Jon looked all the world like he wanted to kiss him. But he reminded himself:  _ It’s a dream, he’s here because you want him to be, he got here so fast because dreams filter by in mere seconds, and the lips you’re feeling on your own aren’t real. _

But this felt real, Jon’s lips hot, wet, moving against his own slow and steady, like they’d done this a million times before, and he smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer-- not his kiss, but his clothes, stuck to him like dirt to his red cape, lipstick to skin. He sighed, and Jon tilted his head to swallow it, sliding his legs in his old torn blue jeans over his hip. That felt real. _ It’s a dream _ , he reminded himself,  _ all a dream, because Jon is still at that party and she’s still under his arm, and he really hates you sometimes. _ So this was a dream, and he’d wake up at any moment, and he’d be alone in his bed with the memory of his kiss on his lips and he’d want to break something. He wouldn’t see Jon all weekend, he wouldn’t call, he’d give him his space, and they’d pretend tonight never happened. He’d pretend he hadn’t admitted to Jon in all his blind jealousy that he’d been a fool for ever thinking he had a chance, he’d go on patrol, and punch in faces, and he’d imagine Jon’s face on each of them, and then he’d act like they’d never said a word about it to begin with.

Because this dream was his mind giving him what his reality couldn’t, this was his mind’s way of working through what he was feeling, his brain’s way of sorting his feelings out so he’d wake up a little less broken. It was simple science. Jon was a dream, a figment of his sleep-addled, heart-torn mind, and the Jon that was over him, kissing the breath out of his lungs, the nose brushing against his own in a million smaller kisses, it was the  _ goodbye  _ before he finally let go.

And then Jon reached down and palmed him square between his legs, and his eyes popped open.

“ _ Hah-- _ !”

“ _ Shhh _ ,” Jon nuzzled into his neck, kissed away the pain of sleeping with his body upturned to the sky and his face in the pillow. “ _ I’m here now, D... let me fix this _ .”

Up and down, slowly, assertively, he rubbed him, thumb brushing his tip between his jeans and boxers, and his hips bucked. “ _ Jon! What are you-- _ ”  _ Doing here, _ is what he wanted to say, but what came out was a broken sob as Jon squeezed him. He bit down on his lips, squirmed and grabbed at Jon’s arms as he worked him, slowly, tortuously, made his hips roll with every wave as he worked him.

This wasn’t a dream.

Jon snickered at him--  _ snickered! _ \-- and shook his head. “D, I’m sorry, I should have... we should have done this a long time ago.”

“ _ Mmm--ah--hah _ ... Jon, you...”  _ Should be at the party. Should be surrounded by people who don’t make you mad, who hurt you, who love you but never as much as I will, _ but instead he was there with one hand between  _ his legs _ and the other squeezing his hip, pressing him down into the mattress, and Jon didn’t smell of her perfume.

“I’m so sorry, Damian. I should have known.”

The hand at his hip gripped his jeans, the ones he’d fallen into bed wearing, the ones he’d been too tired and too petty to strip of. Didn’t matter, it seemed. Jon gave them one tug and ripped them off, threw the two halves strewn across the bed, boxers with a grey label in tatters as he gasped. Those were  _ expensive _ , those were  _ indispensable _ , his father  _ would be furious _ \--! “Jon! What do you think you’re--  _ oh _ !”

Jon took his knees and pulled them apart, tugged them so hard that he felt his back slide across the bedsheets and pull them under him in rolls. In the next moment, his hands were on his ass, squeezing him, pulling him up with all of that kryptonian strength so that half of him was in the air while his upper half pressed into the bed against the weight of himself. He felt exposed, ass in the air, bottomless, like a whore on a Saturday evening. He swallowed and glanced upwards, bewildered, lost, and so  _ painfully _ in love. “Jon...?”

His innocent blue eyes, usually so sweet, so fiery, so filled with life and laughter and love, they were clouded with something unfamiliar, something that made his stomach leap into his chest. His eyes were thin, and he was staring at him from up above, his knees over his shoulders, narrowed and so dark in the night. His voice was low, dangerous, sounded red even when his eyes stayed blue.

“ _ Shut up and let me say I’m sorry. _ ”

Jon’s face was between his legs the next moment, palms pulling him apart, lips wet and teeth nibbling at the skin, tongue darting beyond his walls. “ _ Ahhhh _ ! J-Jon!” Damian grinded his teeth, threw his head back arching his back in the air, hands gripping blindly, wildly at anything he could grip between his legs. That just so happened to be Jon’s hair, a mess in curls, soft between his fingers. He hadn’t meant to. He tugged, just on instinct, and Jon parted him further in response, stuck his tongue further in, made his back arch even higher. “ _ Ah! Ahhhh! Tha-- that... you... _ !”

He could feel it, Jon smiled.

“You bastard,” he threw his head back, tried to squeeze his eyes shut as tears built, because Jon’s tongue felt so hot, and his stomach was twisting, and his hips wouldn’t stop bucking, and a scream was building in the back of his throat that he wasn’t sure he could control. “ _ Jon!! Oh, Jon, oh god, I-- _ ”

He grinded his teeth some more, eyes parting to look at Jon, see his head bobbing as he toyed with him. From up above, Jon’s blue eyes stared right back at him, still thin, still dark, glaring down at him, like a dare. Jon gave him a long slow lick up, and up, up until his tongue was toying with his shaft.  _ You like that, don’t you _ ? That’s what he was saying, he just knew it,  _ even if you don’t want to be, you’re mine. _

He gave Jon’s hair another tug, twisted his fingers in it, twirled them around his finger and pulled, pulled as Jon spread him further apart, as Jon pressed a finger to his entrance and pushed. “ _ Oh!”  _ His voice was light, breathless as he felt his soul leave his body, so damningly wanton, so high-pitched and pornographic.  _ “Jon! Mmm, oh, oh... keep... doing that... _ ” Please. Jon pressed it in further, curled it and slid it all the further as his tongue soaked the skin. He hit a spot, somewhere, somehow, and it made him cry.

“ _ Jon!!! _ ”

He grinned against him again. “ _ I’ve waited too long to do this... _ ” He stuck another finger in, pushed until it hit the same spot, made his thighs buckle and squeeze either side of Jon’s head, “...  _ and you’ve waited too long for me to do this to you... _ ” He pulled them out and pressed them back in, started up a rhythm for himself to the tune of his hips bucking up against his tongue. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” He pulled them back, then pushed them back in, harder this time, hitting him right where  _ that  _ spot was. Damian moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, whimpered as Jon’s fingers undid him. “But I’m here now, I’m going to love you right, I promise, D.”

He tugged at Jon’s hair, again, swallowed down a breathy moan that the rest of the manor most assuredly would have heard. “You...” He glared up at Jon, despite their positions, despite the fact that this was the most demeaning position he’d ever been in. Jon’s eyes met his, soft again, just as deep and dark and blue as before, but now so sweet, and he glared at him, “... _ you better. _ ”

Jon’s lips quirked upwards in a smile, warm, boyish, gentle, and in the next moment he looked like a cat with cream on its whiskers, again. His eyes narrowed, and he grinned all the wider as he pressed a third finger in. Damian inhaled and all but sunk onto it, biting at his lip as he met Jon’s rhythm, rolled his hips again and again, and again until he was crying--  _ again--  _ moaning and twisting and sputtering nonsense, “... _ Jon. Ah. Hah... _ ” Jon chuckled to himself, eyes alight like  _ of course, of course that’s what you’d say.  _ He curled his fingers again and took a slow, deep breath right alongside Damian as he inhaled slow and sharp.

“ _ I think you’re about ready to take me, D... _ ”

He bit back the true response: that he’d  _ been  _ ready.


End file.
